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Post by Ricky Sellers on Oct 2, 2007 0:50:02 GMT
All was fine and dandy during the afternoon, Ricky not having to deal with anyone on the block. It was just his luck that a few more insane idiots got tossed in the loony bin, restraint jackets and all. What losers; all they had going for themselves were tranquilizers in the rear, whereas Ricky was just fine in his own little cell, wasting the afternoon away while reading a book.
But then he got to thinking that he would be getting out soon. Then he would have to take matters into his own hands, finding a place to live and having to find a job to work. It wouldn't be that hard, knowing that there were no adults that would have to read a resume of his own handwriting. Thankfully there were no computers in the Asylum, for Ricky wouldn't know how to work one.
"...When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.... or squeeze them and use the lemon juice to burn out your enemies' eyes."
It all made sense. Ricky had a lot to work with in the world, and pretty soon he would be making it all good and street-friendly once he got out. That day was coming up fast...
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Post by Mia Hastings on Oct 2, 2007 9:03:42 GMT
Working at the asylum wasn't Mia's idea of a good job, but hey, it was steady cash. Subconciously rubbing her slightly curvy stomach a little, the girl shifted the plate to her other hand so she could open the door to Ricky Sellers' cell. Wait, room. The workers at the asylum weren't supposed to call them "cells". "Rooms" apparently gave the place a sense of homeliness. Yeah right, these kids would never feel at home here.
The key to his room flashed in the horrible white light as she moved it from her pocket to the doorknob, slamming it into the keyhole and giving it a little shake before she could open it. Finally the door gave and she staggered inside, the plate of crappy minute steak and potatoes almost falling to the floor.
"Hey, Ricky. I'm Mia...apparently I'm going to be taking care of you for the rest of your sentence?" It accidentally came out as a question and she simply shut the door behind her, sliding the plate onto the table in front of him. The pepper spray jiggled a little in the secret pocket of her uniform's long sleeve, just in case.
A little annoying beeping sound resonated from Mia's wrist and she flicked her watch off irritatedly, punching a little button on its side. Lunch break, which had to be spent with the patients. Apparently it was vital in their recovery to eat with other people...but whatever. Mia wasn't prepared to argue with the people who payed her.
Drawing a Caesar salad sandwich from her huge pocket, she unwrapped the treat, biting into it ravenously as if she hadn't eaten for weeks. "Sorry about the shitty food, the kitchen was short on staff today, y'know?" she mumbled, gesturing to his plate as she swallowed the bite of sandwich. "So, why're you here?" ooc; sorry about the length, huge pent-up muse locked in meh brain somewhere...[/size] |
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Post by Ricky Sellers on Oct 3, 2007 2:53:52 GMT
OOC: Better than writer's block.
Hearing the door to his cell open with the jiggle of a key, Ricky looked up from his book, shutting it in the process. Apparently they sent him someone new this week, and to his surprise it was a woman; a 'girl' would be more accurate if any word would suffice, as the word 'woman' was reserved for girls older than himself.
"...Just my luck..."
Looking at the tray of food that had been brought, Ricky bore a questionable look on first sight. At least people were decently fed on a plate in the Asylum, whereas on the streets you had to fight for your nutrition. Eating was a survival skill back in the city, but here it was handed to you on a platter. Ricky thought of it as an uneccesary convenience as a school self-serve cafeteria was an ideal place to eat.
"Can't really blame the unlucky bastards; no one in this place knows how to cook... not that I deserve any better..."
Ricky reached out and slid his tray closer to him, picking up the fork and prodding at the mashed potatoes, eating one or two bites in the process. A little chat never hurt, but Ricky was wary of the familiar sound of a Mace can. That stuff stung like hell and made it hard to breathe; he didn't want anything that would make her use it.
"Bloody revenge; that's basically it in a nutshell."
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Post by Mia Hastings on Oct 4, 2007 8:53:49 GMT
Damn, that sandwich was good. Mia took yet another chunk out of it, chewing it vigorously. Ever since she found out she was pregnant she'd been ravenous all the time. Apparently this baby had a stomach bigger than hers.
Nodding empathetically, she cocked her head to the side curiously. "Is it really that bad?" she asked, motioning to the plate. The sandwich now lay on the table, forgotten.
Mia understood what he meant. Most of the kids that came in here had some sort of revenge scheme behind them that had gone wrong. It was almost irritating in a sense, to see so many holed up here. Suddenly Mia felt extremely glad to be a level 3. |
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Post by Ricky Sellers on Oct 5, 2007 0:40:30 GMT
Ricky took a big bite out of the steak, chewing it like he had jaws of steel. He was right; it was cooked like it was thrown on a taffy pulling hook, making it have the chewiness of rubber or stale masticated gum. He was unlucky; plain and simple.
"...Bad? Try pinching good food and getting a hungry beat down instead..."
Ricky then sat his fork down, thinking of it as something he could stab someone with. That wasn't something he needed to be thinking about, especially when someone could mace him right then and there. Rather, he thought about what he could do to elaborate on his reason for being here.
"Well, I did get away with it, but not exactly how I had planned it. Ya see, back then I lost my best buddy in a drug-related shoot-out, and then I got ahold of a switch and shanked them all till their guts ran dry. I just happened to get caught later for something else and they pinned 'revenge' on me like a tail on an ass..."
Coloquial language was very colorful in the Asylum, but it was much rarer back in the big tourist city. He was fortunate to get away with saying what he could as much as possible before being deported to Hell.
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